Ephialtes.

Chapter 1: West Milford.

AN: To get the full creepy experience, Listen to some creepy piano music. It'll give you goosies.

"Hi
My name is Lorraine. Lorraine Sheffield. I'm 17 and go to therapy 'cause I see and hear things scarier than the horror movies you watch, but I love a good Mel Gibson movie. Oh, and black coffee. Lots of it.
I hope you enjoyed this conversation. I sure did."
My therapist, Mrs. Kennington looked up after hearing the voice recording and smiled, hoping I would feel some type of relief. I stared blankly back at her as I watched her sit the recorder down on the table.
"See? Doesn't that feel so much better?" She asked, I shrugged my shoulders
"I guess."
"Obviously it won't work the first time around, but after a few times, hopefully it will start to work and you'll feel a difference." She smiled, pouring some more tea in her cup. I watched and waited until she was done
"You've made a lot of progress, Lory. I'm absolutely positive that if you continue with the program this summer, your night terrors will get better."
I felt my heart skip a beat, "Really?"
All I really wanted was for those night terrors to go away. Most people grew out of that stuff, but it stayed a non-stop horror movie up in my head no matter how old I grew.
Mrs. Kennington nodded her head, "Obviously, it won't just vanish immediately—"
Dammit
"—But it will get better. The nightmares shouldn't be so...terrifying. The exercises I have given for you to do are to help relieve anxiety and stress, and I'm almost certain that's the source to your night terror problem." She explained, taking sips of her tea. She was almost always drinking chamomile tea. It smelt real good, and she'd offer me a few times, but I wasn't a tea person...besides, it's just literally leaf juice, but Mrs. Kennington told me that the warmth that radiated off of the cup into her hands was therapeutic to her. I guess every shrink needs a shrink, huh? Hers was just chamomile tea.
"How do you feel about going to your mother this Summer?" She asked
I rolled my eyes and answered almost immediately, "I'd rather jump into a pit of flames."
"Gory, but understandable considering the circumstances." She began, "I want you to continue the exercises, Lory. Record everything you feel, go on jogs often and meditate often. Now that you're seeing your mother for the first time in two years, you'll have underlying anxiousness even if you aren't aware of it, and if you put the exercises aside, the night terrors might just worsen. We don't want that after all the progress we've made, huh, Lory?"
I nodded my head almost robotically. In actual fact, I was grateful for Mrs. Kenningtons concern, but it did get a bit much at times. I understood that my dad paid monthly for me to spill my secrets to this lady in hopes I would find some comfort in the panic, but I just wasn't understanding how this would help me. Maybe in the sense that I was feeling less stressed out and things, but my night terrors were still the same. At this point, all I was trying to do was eliminate the options that weren't working for my current situation and find a possible explanation, but it wasn't working as well as I'd hoped it would.
I looked up at the clock above her book case and read the time, 12:15 PM, and I knew it was time to go. I handed her the sheet of paper that she filled out every time I left, and watched as she placed a smiley sticker in the comment section next to the words saying, "Much progress! Well done!" before she handed the sheet back to me and lead me out the door.
My dad was waiting in his blue volks wagan, as he usually did, reading his newspaper. It was the 21st century, but this man had no care in the world about that. I swear newspaper journalists only produced the paper for my pops.
"Hey, Dad." I greeted, hopping in alongside him with a smile on my face.
"Hey, Kiddo. Nice session? Get a lot off your chest?" He asked, ruffling my hair around playfully. I nodded in response.
"Ready for the airport?"
I sighed heavily, "No, but let's tick it off our list."
—
I never really liked airports as a kid, and still to this day it gives me bad vibes.
Maybe it's got to do with not having control over what's happening. After having to be forced to sit back and watch my nightmares unfold as I set myself to sleep at night and not be able to do anything about it, I've made myself take control of most daily situations. such as driving, for example. I can't stand it when someone drives me around. Well, except my Dad. He's the only one I'm partially okay with transporting me. It's always been something I've been wary of.